


Summer in the City

by kali_asleep



Series: Summer Heat [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Flirting, Innuendo, Kissing, Lust, Makeouts, Making Out, Raging Hormones, Sexual Themes, Skin, adrien is completely oblivious, flirtation, mixed-up identities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:12:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/pseuds/kali_asleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Adrien discovers that peaches aren't the only thing in season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peaches

Anyone who gushed over _Paris in Spring_ had clearly never experienced the city at the aching cusp of June and July. 

Heat rolls up from the pavement in leisurely waves. On every street, windows slide open like lips parted to taste the honey-thick sun above. Men stubbornly decked in suits fan themselves with their wilting copies of _Le Monde_ ; women relinquish skirts past the knee. In the park, much of François-Dupont’s première class sheds their layers of homework and exams. It is the first day of summer break and there is so much skin.

Freshly eighteen, Adrien is certain this day is made for him. His friends and classmates canvas the park in laughter and silliness, and he can't help but get caught up in it all. Nino, Alix, Kim and him rush from end to end of one side of the park, kicking around a soccer ball while some of the other girls watch and cheer (most of them are rooting for Alix, naturally). In a rare show of solidarity, Alya and Chloé recline side-by-side on the towels stretched out across the grass, though Alya doesn't have Sabrina fawning over her and misting her with cool water at regular intervals. Juleka plants herself firmly under the widest, fullest tree in the park and tugs her sunhat (a deep violet) as far down her face as possible. Still, she smiles when Rose plops down next to her with two bottles of Orangina. 

“Alright, alright, timeout,” Nino wheezes, coming to a stop a few minutes later. “I gotta take a break dudes, this heat is killer!” He pulls off his hat and wipes his sweat-glossed brow.

Their mini-match paused, Nino books it to Alya’s side. Alix dribbles the ball between her feet as she watches Nino run off. She rolls her eyes and shoots Kim a knowing look.

“Yeah, the _heat_ is getting to him,” she says, “Definitely has nothing to do with that come hither bikini top Alya’s rocking.”

Alix nods appraisingly, eyes fixed on the tiny lavender triangles flush against Alya’s dark skin. If she weren't his best friend’s girlfriend, Adrien would stare longer too. 

Kim actually has to lean down to jab Alix in the ribs. With a yelp, Alix leaps up and smacks Kim in the back of the head, height difference ignored entirely. This must happen often: Kim grabs both of her forearms with the kind of speed that makes Adrien wonder if _he_ has some kind of supernatural abilities. Grip firm, Kim hauls Alix up to eye level. She wraps her arms around his neck and scowls as she hangs there.

“Don't tell me I'm going to have to challenge _Alya_ to a dare just to keep you,” Kim says. The gleam in his eye tells Adrien he’s only half-joking.

“Ugh, not this time, you oaf.”

Adrien does a 180 when their lips meet with a loud smack. It's already searing out - he doesn't need to add the heat from his blush. He spots Nino dragging Alya off of her towel and into the cool of a tree-shaded bench, and decides he's better off with the PDA he’s already developed a tolerance for. 

It's a good thing, too, because Nino is already peppering Alya’s forehead with kisses. Back to the bottom edge of the bench, Alya reclines between Nino’s legs and tilts her head back to allow for Nino’s affections. She glances down her nose and waves as Adrien approaches.

“See, I told you they wouldn't keep playing once I left,” Nino says, “I'm just too integral to the team.”

Alya gives a whine of protest when Nino straightens up, but she took raises her head when Adrien sits down on the bench next to them. Her gaze flutters to Alix and Kim, still in the middle of the field but now performing some rather athletic making out that bordered on Olympic-worthy.

“Nah, I think they just found some other goals to score,” Alya teases. She pats Nino’s leg consolingly when he blanches at the sight. 

“We don't look like that, do we?” he asks, turning to Adrien for validation.

“Only sometimes.”

Nino’s face crumples in disgust as both Adrien and Alya burst into laughter. After dating through the final years of _college_ and into _lycée_ , the two had calmed their amorous endeavors considerably, though Nino had become no less paranoid and far easier to tease about being over the top. Perhaps it had something to do with the time Alya had accidentally livestreamed one of their more… _enthusiastic_ make out sessions on the Ladyblog from her phone. Alya stopped carrying her phone in her back pocket after that.

“Is there anyone _not_ dating someone else in this class?” Adrien asks. It’s not meant to sound as wistful as it does. He’s happy for his friends, naturally, and he can’t say he has any complaints about _his_ current position… outside of the fact that Adrien can’t discuss it with anyone he knows.

“Well…” Alya starts. She looks up at him with a smirk, and Adrien immediately knows he’s going to regret his question. So much for rhetorical.

“There’s you, of course. Nathanael, Sabrina…” 

Alya starts counting off on her fingers, though the list is limited to one hand. 

“And Marinette.”

Four years of Alya at Nino’s side have prepared Adrien for this. Adrien wasn’t sure that Marinette even liked him anymore; he’d been flattered, naturally, when Nino spilled the beans about the whole crush, but made it clear early on that he didn’t see Marinette as much more than a friend (though he couldn’t admit where his affections really stood). Sure, his shy classmate never actually _confessed_ her feelings to him, but either Alya broke the news to her gently or Marinette simply got over him. It’s been over a year since she’d even stuttered in his presence, and most of the time she follows Alya’s good-natured ribbing of both boys. They were a bit of a squad, the four of them. 

“Alya,” he starts, trying to keep the edge of annoyance from his voice, “For like the zillionth time, Marinette is great-”

As Adrien speaks, his eyes wander, searching the park for the girl in question. 

“She’s smart and funny and a wonderful girl,” he continues. 

Under the other tree, Rose tips up Juleka’s hat to press her lips to her cheek. Juleka swigs on her drink and fails to stifle a pleased blush. His eyes skip over Chloe, not wishing to draw her attention, and dart just as quickly past Alix and Kim - he’d seen enough of that before. 

“But I just don’t-”

He finds Marinette.

The summer light casts her in soft gold, adding a glow to the rosiness of her newly sunned skin. And oh, how much of her is skin: bare from toes to thighs, Marinette stretches her lean legs out along one side of the picnic bench she lounges on. There’s the briefest of interruptions for a pair of bright pink denim shorts that come to an end mid-waist, and then a seemingly endless expanse of uncovered stomach. A faded blue dress shirt, worn and comfortable, has been repurposed, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and shirttails tied neatly just under the swell of her breasts. 

“Don’t-” Adrien fumbles. 

Her lips embrace the fleshy curve of a peach. Devastatingly slow, Marinette bites. Juice trickles down her fingers and from the sides of her mouth as she pulls away. One drop meanders to the end of her chin, then plunges off the edge. It lands on her chest and continues its path down, past the smattering of freckles, past the deep vee of her mostly unbuttoned shirt, to somewhere Adrien can only imagine. 

Spring in Paris has nothing on this. Adrien can’t be sure when he stops breathing, but he knows he starts again when Marinette, frowning at the stickiness on her fingers, begins to suck on them one-by-one. She carries on with whatever conversation she’s having with Nathanael, even as she pops each finger past her lips. Adrien’s stare meets his, and there’s a brief moment of understanding, of brotherhood, before both sets of eyes return to Marinette’s fingers. He is likely as red as Nathanael, and goes decidedly redder when Marinette presses the peach to her mouth once more. Had he been saying something? Everything is peach and sweet and succulent. 

“Don’t?” Alya asks, voice rising curiously. 

Adrien startles and tries to drag his eyes away in time. It’s a useless venture - Alya’s eyebrows raise and a smile electrifies her face.

“She looks good, huh?” Alya says. Nino groans and buries his face in his hands but does not stop his girlfriend. “Really buff, too. You wouldn’t think it, looking at her normally, but the girl can _lift_.”

There’s no pushing his blush back down, so he doesn’t even try. Caught in the act, Adrien can only play along. “Seriously, I had no idea how fit she is!” he says, “Looks like Nathanael has noticed, too.”

Ever the best friend, Nino picks up on Adrien’s intent immediately. “Yeah,” he cuts in, “You think he’s still crushing on Marinette? Seems like it.”

This is what he wants. Adrien has other interests, other priorities, and the last thing he needs is Alya getting the wrong idea _again_. So the sharp flare of jealousy that tightens his chest as Adrien watches Nathanael watching Marinette is ridiculous. He didn’t like her - couldn’t like her, not like that. 

“Haven’t you seen his comics in the school paper?” Alya says with a snort, “Nathanael’s got the biggest thing for Ladybug.”

“Who doesn’t?” Adrien mutters.

Because that’s the thing. Ladybug. He can’t be looking at Marinette, running his eyes up and down her lounging form, and still be true to the love of his life. Marinette takes another bite of her peach and Adrien feels all of the blood in his body shift either up or down. There’s no helping the vision of Marinette’s lips running along his cheek. Adrien stares down that peach and thinks he almost might know what it would feel like. His heart, throbbing, plummets to the pit of his stomach when his thoughts bounce back to a red mask, black spots. Nothing makes it feel less like a betrayal. 

The conversation trails to something else, but Adrien hardly follows. Alya must decide to give him a break about it, though he deserves her teasing. Even when he turns away from her, Marinette, in those shorts, affixes herself firmly in the back of his skull. 

Once, on a photoshoot, he’d been getting his makeup touched up while his makeup artist and another model, a woman in her mid-twenties, gossiped and tittered over their most recent relationships. ‘I don’t care where my man gets hungry,’ one of them had said over the crown of his head, ‘As long as he comes home for dinner.’

“Hey, bro, you doin’ alright?” Nino asks some time later.

“Yeah,” Adrien pants, eyes fastidiously fixed on his friend, “Just a little overheated.”

Adrien thinks he understands.

…

Chat doesn’t give her a heartbeat to react. 

As soon as Ladybug swings herself up to his side, he pounces, burying his face into the soft skin just below her jaw. He lets his lips thread up and down the side of her neck, relishing in the little gasp she gives when he nips at the lobe of her ear. Ladybug lets him lave her in kisses and nibbles for a few solid minutes, arching her head back and encouraging him to wander. When she giggles, it wells up in his stomach, a happy bubble.

“I missed you too, _minou_ ,” she breathes. 

He refuses to give her any longer than that; Chat’s hands run along her hips and he crushes her body to his. The only sounds she makes from there are the moans and pants he milks from her with his lips on her neck and his hands along her back. With each press, Chat works to purge Marinette from his mind, and he fails every time: he traces his tongue down Ladybug’s jawline and sees the sweet line left down Marinette’s chest; he grips Ladybug’s hips and envisions pink, pink, pink and skin. It only spurs him on. Chat’s attentions become more urgent.

Finally, Ladybug tires of his teasing. With two strong hands, she gets a grasp on his hair and yanks him up. Her eyes are blue and blown wide, and her cheeks reddened with more than exertion. He can see the early pink of a light sunburn, he thinks, underneath the thousands of freckles that seem to have sprung up in force over night. Ladybug looks at him hungrily, like she’d take a bite and savour him forever.

Her plump lips wash over his, once, twice, and then hold fast. There’s no ceremony as Chat’s tongue plunges into her mouth, feeling, tasting.

And then his heart lurches to a hot, painful stop.

She tastes like peaches.


	2. Yogurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien learns how not to cool down.

Her mouth is soft and syrup sweet. Chat digs deeper, tongue rolling over hers as if searching for the pit of heat under all of that firm flesh. She tastes like peaches, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to be able to control the course of his hands further down her back.

It has to be coincidence. Maybe he’s projecting, maybe he _wanted_ to lick the fragrant fruit off of her lips. He has Marinette on the brain and Ladybug pressed to his body. Wrapped up in Ladybug as he is, Chat can’t shake his head, can’t physically toss the thought of his classmate and focus on the love of his life. So he rakes his claws up her back and tries to wash himself in the moan it pulls from her. 

“ _Chaton_ ,” she breathes, leaning back only enough to speak. Her lips quiver over his; Ladybug sounds ruined, wanting. The brush of her hands he feels as Ladybug loops her fingers around his belt might just undo him.

She takes a step back, and then another, tugging him along the entire way. Never once do their mouths part. Ladybug bumps up against the door they’d taken up to the roof. Chat understands why a moment later, when she jerks hard on his belt and their bodies collide. She’s pinned herself between him and the door, and her body now lines up with his inch for inch.

Bracketing her body with his, Chat can feel the writhing heat of her. Her chest heaves against his as she fights to breathe without repurposing her mouth. With every nip of his teeth along her lip, with every slick flick of his tongue, her hips cant into his. Ladybug is muscle and movement under his touch. He wants to feel more of her, needs to feel her react, so Chat slides back to her jaw and runs his lips just below her ear. It’s the most sensitive spot he’s found so far, the one that makes her gasp and cling tightly to him when zeroes in with his teeth. After some teasing and nipping, though, it’s not enough - Chat needs more. He must not be the only one: Ladybug buries her hands in his hair and guides him down. Chat’s mouth covers a few blissful inches, and then stops. There’s suit where there should be skin. 

It’s useless to try tugging down the high collar of her suit, he knows that much. Like some kind of conservative voodoo every part of her outfit stays stuck to her skin; Chat had never asked Ladybug what her kwami thought of their evening endeavors, but he wished the creature would lighten up. Plagg, once Adrien had finally overcome his mortification enough to actually ask for his kwami’s thoughts, had reminded him that there were _zippers_ on parts of Chat’s suit for a _reason_. He hadn't been able to look Ladybug in the face for two days after learning that, nor has he dared mention it. He’s too young to keel over and die from over-stimulation.

But being divided by two layers of suit is just as likely to kill him. Chat works his way back to Ladybug’s mouth and swallows her whimpers. His arms curl around her shoulders. Under the red, past the black spots, would they be brushed with freckles? Would the tops of her knees be pink and warm with the day’s sun? If his tongue could dip further, could trace the shapely lines of her collarbone, would he taste peaches?

“Marinette…” Chat groans.

He trips over his own feet when Ladybug shoves him back. Knocked off balance, Chat’s arms spin in wide circles and his boots clatter against the roof. Gravity nearly wins. He’s met with Ladybug’s wide stare when he straightens. 

And then what he said hits him.

“Ladybug, My Lady, I-”

“How long have you-”

“I didn't mean it, I swear, it’s only you, always you-” His voice raises; it’s the only way he can hear himself over his thundering pulse.

“All of this time? Were you playing around with me?” Her mask seems to crumple as her entire face scrunches into a frown. Her voice shakes.

He dares a step forward, but she levels him with a glare. Instead he raises his hands, pleading.

“Of course not, never! I didn't mean to say her name, I promise you.”

“ _Her_ name?” 

Ladybug crosses her arms. The ever-strong motion seems hesitant now, defensive. 

“Marinette,” Chat says, “I didn't mean to say it, I didn't mean anything by it, it’s just I had a thought about her and then I meant to say your name but hers came out instead.”

The excuse is lame but not untrue; unfortunately, it’s also not enough to smooth the concern from Ladybug’s face. His gut twists. Nerves clench at each muscle with a cold grip.

“Marinette?” Ladybug says the name slowly, as if tasting it for the first time. 

“You remember her? She’s the girl who helped with Le Dessinateur. You’re the one who got the lead on her.”

A torturous minute passes where Ladybug doesn’t respond. Her face, usually so expressive, smooths into blankness. He waits, not willing to push his bad luck by saying more. Slowly, her eyes narrow.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Le Dessinateur was years ago. Why are you thinking about her _now_?”

Chat swallows, though his mouth is dry. The risk was monumental, but if it meant keeping her, he’d take it.

“She’s, ah, she’s my classmate.”

“What?” Ladybug yelps, so forceful and high that it makes Chat jump. “What do you mean?”

“We go to school together?” Chat says, unsure.

Her eyes are so wide that it seems they could pop straight from her mask. At her side, her hands clench and unclench. Thunderstruck, Ladybug gums at her words for a moment before spitting them out.

“So, so you know her without the mask, meaning that she, so she knows you outside of the mask!”

They must mirror mixed expressions of frantic confusion.

“Well, yes, I don't go to school dressed like Chat Noir. I've known her since collège.”

If he weren't so distraught over the situation, Ladybug’s reactions might have been amusing. She paces in a small circle, brow furrowed. It looks like she’s counting on her fingers as she mutters under her breath. She comes to an abrupt stop and spins to face him. One finger toys absently with a pigtail as she speaks.

“And… And so you're telling me that you were thinking about Marinette… While we were making out?”

Ladybug doesn't sound nearly as offended as she should. More… Disbelieving.

“Uh, yeah, something just crossed my mind, euh, something funny she said earlier today and, just, yup. Name came out.” As if he wasn’t utterly unconvincing enough, Chat finds himself rubbing the back of his neck on instinct. After this long, Ladybug knows all of his tells. 

“Chat…” She puts her hands on her hips and nails him with a _look_. 

He’s been caught. Wiggling under her gaze, Chat bounces from foot to foot, more complicit in his guilt than ever. It’s his Lady, and he has to be honest with her, but Chat can't even look at her. After such a long time of pining for his partner and friend, he’s on the precipice of having to give it all up because he can't control his _hormones_. Even now, as he stares down at the ground, the tiny bit of Ladybug’s calf that he can see has got visions spinning through his head of that defined line of muscle running up Marinette’s legs. Ladybug sighs.

“Chat, whatever it is, just spit it out.”

“I… I wasn’t thinking about something funny Marinette said,” he starts.

“Obviously.”

“But I… I care about you so much, and I think you’re amazing, the most amazing, beautiful person I’ve ever met,” he says. 

There’s a Cataclysm unfurling in his stomach. It spreads to his chest, making it impossible to breathe. If he falls apart from the inside, at least he won’t have to see the disappointment that will well up on Ladybug’s face when he tells her. 

“So, so please know that I respect you more than anyone, and, and would never, _ever_ go against your trust. But there was… there was this picnic thing that we all did, our whole class, and Marinette was there, and we’ve been friends for years, she’s my _friend_. And she was wearing these, these _shorts_ and her shirt was tied up and just-” He raises his hands up to his chest, palms up, trying to relay the source of his frustration, when Ladybug raises an eyebrow.

He’s too ashamed to continue. The rest of his sentence cuts out into a moan as he buries his head in his hands. Speaking the words only summons the afternoon to his mind. His heart is racing for one thousand different reasons, to too many different places. 

Chat expects Ladybug’s silence. What he doesn’t expect is the tenderness with which she steps up and pulls his hands from his face. Gently, Ladybug nudges his head up and grazes his cheek with a kiss. 

“My Lady?”

Her hands slide to his hips, but she holds the two of them a chaste distance apart. The smile on her face is a slight crescent. Chat has no idea why she would be looking at him with such soft affection after _that_ confession.

“Are you saying that you were thinking about Marinette because you found her attractive?”

Chat nods. Her smile grows, but there’s a glint to it that makes him uneasy.

“And that while getting hot and heavy with me, her name slipped out instead?” 

Her voice is light, playful. Is she… teasing him? He nods again.

“You,” she breathes. He feels her fingers flex on his hip bones. Ladybug stares at him with a dark look he doesn’t want to say is hungry, because there’s no way that she could be reacting to what he’s said with want. 

“You horny teenage boy!” Ladybug exclaims, releasing his hips to smack him on the shoulder instead. Incredibly, against all logic and known laws of the universe, Ladybug doubles over in laughter. 

“I-I-” he stammers.

“Don’t even try to deny it, _Chaton_ ,” she says through her giggles, “A pretty girl- you do think she’s pretty, right?”

Dumbly, Chat nods. 

“A pretty girl catches your eye, and now you can’t- you can’t,” she’s wheezing now, “keep us straight! You’re in _heat_ , you Tomcat!”

She struggles to catch her breath, and wipes a tear from the corner of her mask. Her face is flush with red. He must make the most unattractive fish right now, jaw dropped and gasping.

“Ladybug, I honestly have no idea what is going on anymore.” 

There’s no time to react as she darts in. Her mouth on his is hot, wet, warm, and gone all too soon. She turns on her heel as she leans back, sauntering away before he has a chance to tug her back. Ladybug tosses a smoldering look over her shoulder.

“You’re in heat, Chat.”

She’s the only person in Paris - no, the entire world - that could make swinging a yo-yo look sensual, but damn does she do it well. Chat’s body lurches forward. She angles the yo-yo expertly towards the nearest opposite rooftop and launches herself off of the roof as soon as it finds a firm hold. 

“But maybe you’re not the only one.”

Her parting wink is meant to melt him. She does it on purpose, Chat is sure of it. He’s left alone, on a roof, in the middle of the night, and he is very, very confused.

…

Adrien should have known, from the moment he slipped on Plagg’s ring, that he was doomed from that point on to have the worst luck. He blinks, trying to clear his sleep-bleary eyes. Sure, Adrien hadn't slept much that night (really, at all, tossing and turning over Ladybug and then _Dieu_ , Marinette), but there's no mistaking what's spelled out on his phone.

_Hey, Alya and I wanted to go check out the new frozen yogurt place a few blocks down from the school! Alya was going to drag Nino along, wanna come?_

For the third or fourth time, Adrien groans and chucks his phone on the pillow beside him. Not long after, he scrambles for his phone, unlocks it, and reopens Marinette’s message. A picture of her face pops up in a small circle next to her text. Her grin takes up nearly half of the picture, her blue eyes the other. Had her smile always been that pert? Next to her picture, an ellipses appears. He sighs heavily. Busted.

_Adriiiieeeeen~ I know you saw my message. Are you still in bed, lazy?_

It’s just a normal text message between friends. They’ve sent hundreds of them in the past year or two, planning meet-ups, asking school questions, snarking over their best friends, or sending the occasional cute baby animal picture. It’s just a normal message from a girl he’s only ever considered a friend, except no text has even gotten under his skin like this. 

_Or is it just that you’re too COOL for frozen yogurt?_

Can't be, because he feels very, very hot all over right now. Marinette’s picture seems to smirk at him.

“Just text her back already!” Plagg snaps. He’d been floating a few inches above Adrien’s bed, dozing in and out, but now he plunges under the covers. Adrien can see the outline of his tiny paws covering his ears. “Seriously, what does a guy have to do to get some sleep here?”

“How do you know it’s her, Plagg? It could be Nino.”

The kwami squirms under the blanket until just his eyes peek out.

“You don't stare at your phone with a stupid look when you’re talking to Nino. _That_ dumb expression is reserved for your ‘lady love’.” Plagg pretends to gag, but it sounds more like he’s trying to hack up a hairball. 

“Marinette is not my ‘lady love’, don't say that!”

Plagg covers himself back up with a grunted, “Yeah, okay, whatever, just text her back.”

Adrien shoots back with the most friendly, neutral confirmation that he can. Frozen yogurt, easy peasy.

He gets ready quickly, tossing on a pair of slim cut jeans and a white vee-neck. Adrien allows him exactly ten seconds to contemplate how well his jeans fit just below the waist, and if Marinette would notice, before grabbing his phone and brushing away the thought. This was going to be a fun, perfectly platonic, perfectly regular get together. He has a message from Marinette.

_Can't wait to see you there! ;)_

Plagg snickers wickedly as Adrien holds his head in his hands and groans.

…

Marinette is already there, but Alya and Nino are decidedly absent. Adrien spots her, sitting alone in a booth for four, as soon as he pushes through the door. He should be relieved: her toned torso is covered in a soft, white blouse that hangs crookedly off of one shoulder, and the high-waisted lavender skirt it’s tucked into brushes her knees. But he wavers at the door, staring too long, and when she catches sight of him she takes him down with a single smile. Adrien had started convincing himself that last night’s reaction was the result of a show of too much skin, but here he is, facing a fully-clothed Marinette and unable to put one foot in front of the other.

It’s only the bump of another customer pushing past him through the door that spurs him forward. Years of practice on the catwalk keeps him from tripping over his own feet. Marinette beams at him as he slides into the booth across from him.

“Hey, cool guy, you made it!” she teases.

Adrien doesn't think his face should feel so warm. He definitely shouldn't feel like he’s swallowed a brick. _Act normal. Be friends._

“W-well, yeah, I ah, wouldn't want to leave you out in the cold,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Marinette’s entire face lights up, though it had seemed to him impossible that it could have gotten brighter. She splays her hands out on the table between then and fires back with a, “You’re going to have to put a _freeze_ on those puns, Monsiuer Agreste. _Ice cream_ every time I hear one.”

The King of Bad Jokes, Adrien normally has a well-equipped arsenal for firing back an even worse pun. This time though, all that’s coming to mind is a decidedly inappropriate _Cool? You're so hot I think I might melt._ The gap of silence is long enough to be awkward.

“Sorry, Marinette, I guess I'm just a pro at _dishing_ them out,” he says. He hopes his attempt at a shrug reads casual, but he’s never felt so tense around this girl before. She rolls her eyes and Adrien feels his composure roll away with them.

He’s thankful that Marinette’s gaze fastens on the table immediately after; Adrien’s not sure how his face reads, but he doesn't think he could explain it anyway. Her forehead wrinkles and she mouths something silently. This goes on for a good thirty seconds. Adrien should be weirded out, but instead his brain provides him with a less-than-helpful observation: she's cute.

But sitting in silence staring at her isn't helping the traitorous thumping in his chest, and she hasn't said anything for a long time.

“Marinette?”

Her head springs up and her eyes widen.

“Ohmigosh I'm so sorry!” she rushes, “You know when you're trying to think of your next pun, but you can't, so you just sit there looking like an idiot while you try to come up with it? Yeah…” Marinette points at herself, sheepish expression framed in a pink flush. 

Was he so barbaric? So easily swayed? That one look at this girl baring too much skin over 24-hours ago would be affecting him this way now? She's smiling at him again, and it’s like staring into an unfiltered sun. _Be calm. Be normal._ The mantra circles through his head, but it doesn't make it to his mouth. Someone much more like Chat Noir and a lot less like Adrien Agreste takes control.

“Well, Mari,” he says, lips quirking into a smirk, “I can certainly help you out. You just need to keep a _cool_ head.”

Delighted, Marinette laughs and leans across the table to flick him on the nose. 

“That’s cheating, I already used that one!” she says.

Adrien’s not sure what stuns him more: the boldness of her move, the rich sweep of her voice, or the sudden realization that her shirt has a certain sheerness to it that gives way to the shapeliness of her shoulders and the curve of her chest. His fingers curl. Adrien shrugs and grins, Chat Noir flickering across his face. 

“Busted,” he says, “Guess I’ll have to be punished.”

She perks up, reacting to the change, though it’s impossible to tell if she’s cognizant of it. Marinette props her elbows on the table and cradles her chin in her hands. Batting her eyelashes, Marinette hits him with a coy smile. Adrien’s heart does a nosedive when he feels her legs brush against his as she crosses them under the table. Whatever he’s offered, she’s giving it back fivefold now. Her lips part.

“Hey kiddos, sorry we’re late!”

Alya slides into the booth next to Marinette, playfully bumping her with her hip and bumping the kittenish expression off of Marinette’s face. Nino sits down next to Adrien, high five at the ready. Both of the new arrivals look a little red in the face; Alya’s hair isn't quite flat and Nino’s lips are kiss-bruised. 

By the time Marinette and Adrien are done teasing their friends over whatever limpid excuse they’d come up with for being late, Marinette is looking perfectly innocent and Adrien’s pulse has settled back into a healthy tempo. Their gazes meet a handful of times during conversation for the next few minutes, and the exchanges are so normal, so innocuous, that Adrien has to wonder if his brain had fabricated the impishness he’d seen dancing along her features. Projecting, again.

He must get lost in her for longer than he thought, as he’s pulled from his thoughts with Marinette’s question and the realization that he’d missed an entire chunk of conversation.

“Do you want to, Adrien?”

Marinette says it with such sweetness, such wide-eyed and pink-cheeked suggestion, that Adrien immediately responds.

“Of course,” he says, “Absolutely!”

He has no idea what he’s signed himself up for, but it doesn't matter. It’s too late, and everyone else at the table looks pleased. Nino chatters to Adrien about the sound setup at some club while Marinette asks Alya about an outfit, and Adrien remembers all too late that Nino had gotten a spot to perform in a local electronic music show. He’d invited Adrien a few weeks back. Obviously, they would all be going. Back in the loop, Adrien cheerfully agrees when they plan to meet up at the club at seven. 

All sense of normalcy returns with Nino at his side and Alya across the table. The four of them follow their regular course: Alya and Marinette talk over each other about the superiority of mango or coconut frozen yogurt, each trying to get Adrien on their side once Nino raises his hands and flatly refuses to get involved - for his own safety, of course. Adrien eggs them both on, pretending to favor Alya, and then Marinette, until Alya starts to suspect that Marinette might win and suggests that they actually go _eat_ some of said yogurt. 

And that’s what does Adrien in: he lets down his guard. So he has no way of saving himself, no way of bracing for impact, a few minutes later when he offhandedly looks up from his yogurt to ask Marinette something about her thoughts on the new Vuitton line. 

He’s pretty sure it’s illegal for anyone to eat _yogurt_ like that. Marinette’s lips purse ever so slightly as she brings the spoon to her mouth. The movement is smooth and slow, and Adrien is snagged by a flash of pink as her tongue twirls around the bend of the spoon. She’s wholly invested in the simple enjoyment of her dessert, eyes shuttering closed as a little sigh of contentment escapes. It’s the most decadently innocent thing Adrien’s ever seen, and no amount of frozen _anything_ would take the edge off of the heat spiking North and South of his stomach. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

It’s Marinette’s lips that move - Adrien knows, because he’s been staring at them. They lift into a plump smile. He meets her eyes, caught.

“Y-yeah,” Adrien stammers, making a show of taking a bite of his own yogurt. It’s chocolate, but he hardly tastes it. “Delicious.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing.

She dishes out another spoonful of yogurt from her cup and runs her tongue along her bottom lip. 

“Mmm, yeah. It’s really incredible,” Marinette says, still smiling straight at him.

Never once does she break eye contact as she painstakingly licks her yogurt off of the spoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join the ML Overall Squads/Team Sinneralls: brettanomycroft.tumblr.com


	3. cherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it's that hot out, it's important to dress accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIN.
> 
> Apologies for any typos or errors - this ended up being way longer than expected and way later than anticipated and I just wanted it done.

Sweltering doesn’t begin to describe it. Even with all of the top windows along the entire wall of his room propped open, even with the fan next to his bed working overtime, the air is blistering. Every time Adrien bothers to move, the air pushes back, a dense wall of heat. For not the first time, he starts to rise out of his sweat-damp bed, only to flop back down with a groan.

It’s nearly noon, and the only thing more unnatural than the heat is the fact that Natalie hasn’t come to his door to drag him off to some photoshoot or publicity event. The last time he’d been allowed to lounge in bed most of the day saw him with a high fever, which is not altogether unlike how he feels now. Certainly, there’s no sniffling or aching, but the high temperature clings to his skin and insists that he never wants to leave his bed (despite how the sheets seem to only be adding to his discomfort). Adrien never wants to move again.

But his phone has other ideas, which means Plagg has taken to punctuating his groaning complaints about the weather with high-pitched whines every time Adrien’s phone chirps with a new message. Second to griping about being overworked and under-appreciated, Plagg loves complaining about Adrien’s technology. The grievance is always something about how distracted Adrien gets by his phone or computer, or how noisy his devices can be, but more than once Adrien’s caught his grumpy old man of a kwami rolling over his keyboard with delighted giggles or very intently smashing at the buttons of one of his handheld games. It didn’t take over three years for Adrien to figure out Plagg’s M.O. 

Still, unplugging his phone from the charger on the nightstand actually requires effort, and moving, and so Adrien had chosen to ignore it until now. The few messages he’d recieved an hour or so ago were no doubt Nino, likely just rolling out of bed himself. He can’t avoid his phone now, though, not when Plagg lazily drifts over it and then purrs, “It’s Marinette.”

In the midst of Paris’ lava-hot noon, Adrien is going to be an iceberg. Resolute, he rolls onto his side away from his phone and picks up the book he’d abandoned a bit ago. His arms, weighted with lethargy, protest to holding anything up again, but he persists. He flips to the page he left off on and attempts to make sense of the words that wriggle like heat waves before his vision. It’s a lost cause - he can't focus, not with the knowledge of his waiting phone clawing at his skull like a physical force - but Adrien is nothing if not resilient. 

“Marinette again,” Plagg says the next time his phone goes off. 

“Plagg…” Adrien starts, a warning rising in his throat. 

The past 24 hours have been agony. With no patrol the night before and the looming concert tonight, Adrien spent all of yesterday’s shoot dwelling on seeing Marinette, and much of last night contemplating suiting up and trying to track down Ladybug. They didn't patrol every night, and akuma attacks always seemed to diminish in the early weeks of Summer, so the time between seeing each other always dragged. This whole Marinette thing wasn't helping.

“I think it has to do with tonight,” Plagg continues, “You might wanna look.”

Adrien flips over in an instant, unsurprised to see Plagg plucking at his phone screen with a tiny paw. How the kwami manages to lift something bigger than him, Adrien hasn't figured out, but he’s pretty sure it’s based more on will than anything else. Plagg’s _never_ picked up his phone when Adrien has asked. Plagg lets out an indignant yelp when Adrien snatches his phone back.

“This is the thanks I get for helping you out,” Plagg mutters as Adrien erases the _bnsur bz_ he’d tapped out.

“Friends don't send friend ‘kisses’ in text messages, Plagg,” Adrien says flatly.

“ _Friends_.”

“Friends. Marinette and I are friends. Ladybug and I are _friends_.”

Adrien lets Plagg’s snarky ‘Uh-huh’ slide. He scrolls back up to Marinette’s messages.

- _Hey, so Alya’s pulling the gf card and going in early with Nino to help him set up_

- _Papa is being ridiculous and doesn't want me walking to the club on my own… like I can’t take care of myself. Mind being my hero and swinging by to pick me up?_

If there’s a divine being, some universal intelligence in control of the here and beyond, it has it out for one Adrien Agreste.

“ _Friiieeennndddsss_ ,” Plagg drawls as Adrien drops his phone and buries his burning face into his pillow with some choice words.

…

“Adrien, good to see you!”

Sabine is out from behind the counter and delicately placing a pain au chocolat in his hands before the _boulangerie_ door even closes. No matter how many times he comes over, he still can't quell the funny offbeat pattering of his heart when Sabine then tucks him in her customary motherly embrace. She smells like flour and ginger and the beeswax soap they keep in the bakery. 

Like his wife, Tom is just as warm in receiving Adrien. This close to close, it’s not particularly busy, but that's even more the reason for Tom to be back in the kitchen, cleaning equipment and preparing the doughs for the next day. He nonetheless appears in the shop to give Adrien a couple of hearty thumps on the back and ask about his summer plans.

It’s almost a relief when they both finally let him go and Sabine says, “Marinette’s upstairs. She got back from a run not that long ago, so she’s probably running behind… Go on up!” Adrien sends them a warm wave and opens the door leading to the Dupain-Cheng home. The ache in his chest softens, then is blissfully replaced by the tension that strings through his entire frame at being alone with Marinette. Better a beast he understands, and can maybe even conquer.

Marinette is absent from the cute living area, but when he peers up the stairs, he can see her door is open. Adrien makes his way up, route as familiar as the one to his own room, nothing complicated about it, nothing that merits the acrobatics happening behind his rib cage. 

“Marinette, I’m here,” Adrien calls as he approaches the door. He starts to push it open. “Ready to ro-”

Adrien walks into another world, where time freezes and the course to desire is charted on the fine ridges of Marinette’s naked back. Statuesque, Marinette has pressed the sports bra she must have just removed to her chest and is staring at him from over her shoulder. She is carved of marble, hard but fluid, enticingly smooth, impossible to touch. He admires her once with the eye of an artist: perfectly cut deltoids, strong shoulders, the rise of muscles under her lithe form. 

And once that moment flits away he rakes over her with the eyes of a man in heat: her skin, uninterrupted from the tops of her shoulders to the dip of her tight running shorts, invite his hands to intervene; the low cusp of her breast curves tantalizingly, just enough visible to tease, not enough to satisfy; most importantly, there is a neat scar along her left shoulder that his tongue begs to trace.

Adrien has, without a doubt, been struck dead and is experiencing the afterlife. Whether he is in heaven or hell remains to be seen.

He takes a step forward, then stumbles a step back, and it breaks the still.

“Mar- I-I- IamsosorryI-”

Adrien backs towards the door, blood skyrocketing up his neck, and fumbles for the handle. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here, _he shouldn't see this, he really, really needs to see-_

“You peeping tomcat!” Marinette exclaims. She clutches her arms more closely to her chest but makes no other move to cover herself - in fact, she turns slightly towards him to fix him with more of a reprimanding stare, giving him a fresh glimpse of her muscular stomach.

He’s blindly reaching to pull the door open because he _cannot_ tear his gaze away, and for once he can't even hear her over the shrieking that blares through his head, the sirens bouncing around his skull. Her lips might form the words ‘Silly’ and ‘Knock next time’, but it’s not until he’s scuttled downstairs and planted himself on the couch that his brain processes the input it received as he’d made his escape. Marinette didn’t seem even the least bit mad. In fact, she’d been laughing.

Sitting on the couch is an exercise in self-control, especially once he hears the shower running in the upstairs bathroom. Instead of drawing forth the vision of water coursing down Marinette’s bare back, or the fresh flush that would rise to her skin with heat and scrubbing, Adrien studies the Dupain-Cheng’s family pictures and reflects on how welcoming Sabine and Tom have always been, how calm and kind and normal their family is, how innocent and charming the pink and white décor surrounding him is. Plagg stirs from the inside pocket of his trim military-style jacket, but thankfully doesn't come out to harass him.

“Many apologies,” Marinette’s voice drifts down, “The Princess is running fitfully late for the ball.”

Adrien turns at the thump of her boot-clad feet down the stairs, his own apology at the ready. 

He should know better by now, that every time he sees her, he’ll be left breathless. Tonight is no exception, though it’s twice now with next to no time for him to recover. The crop top could barely be called that, as little fabric as it must have taken to make it. Red and white polka dots end a few inches below her breasts, and the neckline plunges deep between them. High-waisted jeans in a dark wash complete the ensemble, and the jack slung over her shoulder lends a casual air to her sexiness, like Marinette knows how devastating she looks. Her hair has been coaxed into a high ponytail. A few strands cling to the back of her neck, still damp from her shower.

Where he means to say ‘I’m sorry for accidentally walking in on you,’ a breathless “You look great,” comes out instead.

Pink tickles her cheeks as she shoots him a pleased smile. “Thanks, y-you don't look half bad yourself.” 

She hasn't stuttered in front of him in ages. 

Adrien stands up and circles the couch to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn't think, not once, not twice, when he dips into a half-bow and proclaims in an ostentatious voice, “If My Lady is prepared to depart.”

It is only the honey sweetness of Marinette’s smile that soothes the sting his words create in his throat. There's no way for Marinette to know how thoughtlessly he's just dropped the title meant only for his Ladybug; there's no reason for her to suspect how special those words are. Why he would _ever_ -

But _Dieu_ , those words must contain some magical spell; Marinette transforms from simply beautiful to purely radiant: she straightens, holding herself a little taller, and her smile reaches her eyes and bursts into brightness. She takes a step down and puts her hand in the one he offers. It is small, and warm, and strong, and he is in so much trouble.

“Lead the way, Fair Knight,” she says, voice just as ridiculously affected. Her attempt at a snooty expression is undermined by her giggles.

They both head out, and after Marinette locks up, she shrugs on her jacket. The black and neon green baseball jacket hugs her form, but when she buttons it up, all of the raciness of her outfit disappears. It is fashionable but modest Marinette that comes down the stairs to the bakery, Adrien trailing behind with the secret of what’s under that jacket jolting through him. He feels like he’s been let in on something dark, primal, as he watches Marinette sweetly hug her father, all of that skin purposely hidden, Adrien the only one allowed to know.

“I'll be staying over at Alya’s tonight,” she says as she pulls away from hugging Sabine.

“That's fine, dear, just be sure Nino or Adrien walks you two back to her house afterwards.”

Adrien nods dutifully, the picture of trustworthiness. If they knew how Marinette had been ricocheting through his brain, would they want him walking down the street with her? Would they pick him to be her escort? As soon as he’s hugged his goodbyes to Marinette’s parents, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. 

They stay there for the entire walk to the club. They stay there as Marinette bubbles in excitement at his side, as they discuss school, and music, and fashion, and their summer plans, and the upcoming show. They stay firmly planted in his pockets as Marinette peels her jacket off at the door of the club and leaves it with an attendant, even though his fingers itch both to tug her jacket back on, to keep other wandering eyes off of her, and to run along the long, unbroken tracts of exposed skin. 

The show is slated to start in a little under an hour, so the floor is still mostly free of people. Adrien and Marinette mill around for a bit, looking at the set list for the evening and trying to scope out the best place to stand. They haven't spotted Alya or Nino yet - the two are likely still backstage - but they do find Juleka and Rose staked out around a rare table towards the back of the club. They chat for a bit while Rose nurses something bright pink and definitely alcoholic, and Adrien starts to think she might have the right idea. With a wave and promises to drop back by in between sets, Marinette and Adrien wander off.

“I'm going to go check out the merch table - they might have a shirt or poster or something with Nino’s name on it,” Marinette turns her eyes to him, “Think he’d like that?”

When Marinette smiles, she uses her entire body. Laugh lines crinkle at the corner of her eyes and her cheeks swell, cherubic, apple-red. Her shoulders rise a hair, framing her face cutely, and she leans in, hands swinging at her hips. At the peak of her little, excited bounce, her lips almost hit the same height as his.

Careening in, the thought blindsides him so thoroughly that he feels it like a physical tackle. Adrien is winded when he replies, “I know he would. Go check it out, I'm going to grab a drink from the bar before it gets slammed.”

Marinette arches an eyebrow, her smile transforming. “Going to get your party on, huh, M. Agreste?”

He hasn't even caught his breath from ago and there is goes again. In the dim light of the club, Marinette is still a pretty sight. The flashes of light from the stage add a shadowed sharpness to her grin that tunnels right under his skin. His fingers yearn to work their jitters out along the first inches of flesh that rise up over her jeans. Her thumbs are hooked casually along the waistband of her pants - why couldn't his be too?

“Not like that - I'm your escort for the evening, aren't I? Can't be slacking on the job. I can still have fun though, trust me.”

Adrien narrowly swallows the purred _Princess_ that threatens to slip off of his tongue. Still, the heat of his voice is so raw, so obvious, that even in the noisy club, Marinette’s features sharpen in response. Her eyes narrow a shade, and her lips purse into a suggestive smirk. 

“You might not always look it,” she says, “But you strike me as the type who knows how to have a good time.” 

The first break he’s gotten all night comes now, when Marinette spins on her heel and Adrien doesn't have to string together a family-friendly response. She doesn't so much walk as saunter over to the merch table. Every step seems deliberate, designed to make her hips sway more enticingly, to accentuate just how well her jeans cling to her. And then Adrien _knows_ it’s deliberate: Marinette tosses her head, looks over her shoulder at him, and winks. Caught out, Adrien turns tomato and robotically makes his way to the bar. She'd known he’d be watching her. She’d _wanted_ him to watch her.

Knees weak, Adrien half-collapses at the bar, propping himself up on his elbows as he waits for the bartender to head his way. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms and groans. What had possessed him to come? Sure, Adrien loved Nino like a brother, and this was a big night for him, but if Adrien could have explained, he’s sure Nino would have accepted ‘I need to avoid lusting after a girl who’s not my sort of girlfriend’ as an excuse not to come. 

And it’s not like Marinette is helping the situation. There’s no way her actions were unintentional. Hadn't she been over him for months? Longer?

“What can I get you, man?” the bartender asks as she sidles up. 

He looks up. Adrien must be the perfect picture of death or desperation, because she immediately backpedals and starts reaching for one of the bottles of cheap bourbon behind her. Adrien shakes his head - he wants nothing more than to down something strong, but the last thing he needs are his inhibitions lowered around Marinette in a crop top. 

“You don't happen to have a hole I can bury myself in back there, do you?” Adrien asks miserably.

The bartender shoots him a look. “Girl problems? Boy problems?”

“Girl problems,” Adrien confirms. He wants to sink into the bar, and then deeper into the surface of the earth, and possibly disappear forever.

Looking past his shoulder, the bartender scans the crowd. 

“Which one?” she asks. 

“Over at the merchandise table,” Adrien sighs, “Black hair, high ponytail, red crop top, boots-”

“Nice ass?” 

Marinette is nothing more than his friend, but Adrien bristles at the bartender’s appreciative tone. She laughs at the downturned corners of his mouth and pours him a water without having to ask. He nods gratefully, not trusting himself to speak yet, and watches as she starts mixing something else - Coke, grenadine, muddled lime, cherries. 

“All I'm saying, kid, is that that’s the kind of girl problem most people would like to have,” the bartender says as she shoves the drink she’s made into his hands. “In fact, I can spot at least four others in this room who’d like to make her their problem, and some of them pushing the older side of creepy.”

With a start, Adrien swings around, searching for Marinette. She’s still at the merch table, holding up a tee-shirt to her chest. The guy running the table, maybe only a year or two older, nods fervently and gives her a thumbs up. His smile is wide, enthusiastic, and he looks totally taken by the girl. Of course. Adrien stands up, drink in hand.

He barrels through the crowd, reluctant hero denying his mission even as he treks straight towards it. Zeroed in on the guy at the table, Adrien is the first to see him reach out for Marinette’s wrist. There's a black permanent marker in his hand. 

More than a few grunts and exclamations of protest rise up as he elbows people out of the way. Apologizing would take too much time, Adrien decides, so he foregoes it altogether. Marinette is looking at the merch guy now, eyes a little wide, but she’s not moving away and that marker of his is getting closer-

“Yeah, lemme just give you my number and we can-”

There is fire, and there is the sensation that flares up under Adrien’s skin. It rockets painfully across his chest and through his shoulders and snaps his fingers into fists with the need to reach out and touch her, to pull her away from _him_ and leave no trace of doubt as to who she is with. Which is ridiculous, because they’re there as friends, and Adrien has no right to her, by neither does that slimy-haired scumball about to put the marker tip to her soft skin-

“Hey, Mari,” Adrien says, sidling up behind her. “Find anything?”

It’s dangerously easy to slide an arm around her shoulders (the struggle had been not wrapping it around her waist). Adrien hangs slightly off of her, leaning around to pretend to look at the wares. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the other boy retreat, though not by much.

Marinette looks up at him with clear blue eyes and unleashes that devastating smile on him once more. She doesn't pull away from him, instead turning the best she can under his arm to show him the shirt she’s picked up. Simple, black, the tee-shirt features the names of most of the performers at the event. Marinette holds it up to her chest.

“This shirt is pretty cool, yeah?” she asks. 

The merch guy opens his mouth to say something, anything to get back Marinette’s attention, but Adrien anticipates it.

“Eh, it’s alright, maybe a little plain,” Adrien says, “Besides, Nino’s name isn't big enough on it.”

Marinette nods, and lets out a laugh. “I can't believe he went with ‘The Wubbler’ after all of these years. But yeah, you’re right.” Her eyes flick to the guy behind the table. “Maybe a little pricey for the quality, too.”

She sets the shirt back on the table, folding it neatly. When Adrien starts to guide her away from the table, she follows. 

“But wait, can I-” the man behind the table starts. His permanent marker hovers in the air, still hopeful.

Marinette waves him off gently and stares up at Adrien as they walk away. It’s impossible to say how he steers them through the crush of people with his eyes fixated on hers. He can't even hear those around him over the blaring bass of his heart. But of course, as always, Marinette’s words don't escape him.

“I look better in red, anyway.”

She says it like an afterthought, casually, but her voice doesn't match the look she gives him. Marinette tilts her chin up and raises her eyebrows, challenging, expectant. She licks her lips and he can't not trace his eyes down her neck and over her collarbone. His vision snags on that skimpy piece of red and white cloth and Marinette makes no protest as Adrien’s eyes move further down. 

“I can't deny that,” he says. The smirk on his face isn't one he’s familiar with without a mask.

It could be years that they stand there, smiling and staring at one another. Marinette is close, held to his side by his arm, and she doesn't seem inclined to move anytime soon. Can she feel his pulse through the fingers that curl gently around her bare shoulder?

“Get a room,” someone mutters as they jostle past Adrien. The moment is broken and they're snapped back into the present.  
Adrien feels the heft of the drink in his hand.

“Oh,” he says, “I got this for you.”

He passes Marinette the cherry and Coke concoction with a look he hopes is nothing more than friendly. 

“What is it?” 

“Actually, uh. I'm not sure, the bartender just made it. I think it has lime? No alcohol though.”

Marinette uses the little straw to swirl her drink and hums a, “Mmm, shame.” She hits him with a wink before taking a sip.

Like that drink would need anything added to it, like Marinette isn't intoxicating enough with the way she plucks one of the cherries from the top of her drink and wraps her lips around the red fruit. His own lips part a moment later when she fishes out another cherry and offers it to him. Marinette’s fingers brush his mouth and then _he’s_ the cherry from the neck up. She giggles like she knows she’s killing him; sweetness erupts in his mouth, and Adrien swallows hard. 

“Looks like the first musician is about to start,” Marinette says, glancing to the stage.

Adrien startles and looks around, uncertain how he got here. When everything was Marinette, and her hands, and her shoulders, and his skin on hers, it was nearly impossible to keep track of the world around him. They were there to see Nino. Focus. And indeed, there’s a girl on stage just finishing the setup of a turntable while another, nearly identical, presses a few test chords into a keyboard. 

“I think this band’s called Déjà Vu,” Adrien says, glad for the distraction, “Nino told me they were pretty good.”

“Déjà Vu? With twins?” Marinette says, “What is it with this entire city and puns?”

“Hey, puns are great!” Adrien protests, nudging her in the side. 

“Yeah, whatever you say, Ki- Kid.”

Adrien doesn't get a chance to contemplate her stammer - he's derailed when Marinette slips out from under his arm, only to take his hand. She leads him through the crowd and towards the stage, and the music starts up a minute later. 

It takes a few minutes for the twins to warm the crowd up, but soon enough every body in the club seems to move as one, pulsing to the music. Given his demanding schedule, Adrien hasn’t been to too many shows, and dancing is something more often reserved for his bedroom, where only Plagg can make fun of him, but he too gets caught up in the music and finds himself jumping along to the beat. Marinette dances in front of him, wiggling her shoulders and throwing up her hands and moving her hips in captivating circles and generally doing everything possible to make life difficult for Adrien. More than once she looks back over her shoulder with a delighted smile or some shouted expression of how great the whole thing is. Occasionally she grazes him with her hand or accidentally flips her ponytail into his face, and each time makes Adrien feel like he’s been pumped full of helium. 

He wants to touch her, to pull her body to his and feel the rhythm of her. The music is as much his saving grace as it is his downfall: fast-tempoed and catchy, it’s not the kind of song one can easily dance to with a partner. It would be impossible for him to keep up with Marinette’s erratic movements. 

Adrien makes it through the first set with all personal space boundaries maintained, though it doesn’t seem as though he’ll keep that record for much longer. He’s close enough to Marinette to see the gleam of sweat on her skin, to see the soft, short hairs at the nape of her neck curl in the muggy club air. His hand finds its way to her shoulder, thumb poised to sweep along the back of her neck. Marinette turns, saving him from himself.

“I- uh- I’m going to go to the bar,” Adrien says. With monumental effort, Adrien lifts his hand to gesture back to the bar. 

“Okay!” she says brightly, “I’ll stay here and hold down the fort. Hold down the floor?” Marinette ponders for a second, then shakes her head, “I’ll be here.”

Hitting the line to the bar is like being dunked in ice water, and not for the first time, Adrien snaps out of his seemingly perpetual trance. He blinks owlishly and takes a breath that bites his lungs. Had he been breathing? And if he had been, did breathing in Marinette even count as air? 

With the show finally started, the bar is crowded, two or three people deep, and Adrien is forced to wait a good ten minutes just to get to the front. The bartender sends him an over-the-top wink when she spots him, and a few minutes later actually manages to work her way down to him and take his order. By that time, the stage has gone over to the second set, and the next group is just ramping up into their first song. Adrien tries hard not to chug his Kir once it’s set in front of him, but the crowd has started shifting along with the music and he realizes that he can’t spot Marinette from where he is. The sweet drink burns on the way down. Adrien decides there are worse things than a little liquid courage. 

Belatedly, it hits him that maybe alcohol was _not_ the right way to go. It’s when he spots a flash of red amongst the dancing bodies and sees Nathanael smiling down at Marinette that Adrien remembers that he’d been needing more impulse control, not less. The glass hits the bar with a thud, and Adrien is off. 

They’re more dancing _at_ one another than _with_ one another. The respectable, decent distance between Nathanael and Marinette shouldn't set Adrien off, but as the two bounce and move to the bass-heavy electro-funk, he feels an ugly clench in his stomach. Adrien shoulders his way through the crowd with increased urgency. Nathanael takes Marinette’s hand and twirls her - she bumps into his chest, giggling, and he looks like he’s summoning every ounce of confidence in his bones as he puts his hand on Marinette's hip. Nathanael, a bright beam of red even in the dark club, leans down to say something to Marinette. His face is nearly nestled into her neck and his lips at her ear and it’s tunnelvision, Adrien can't see anything but the two of them, doesn't know anything except that Nathanael is touching _Marinette_. He can hear his breath, harsh in his own ears. 

Marinette looks up at just that moment and spots him. Whatever she reads on him causes both eyebrows to rise. She covers Nathanael’s hand in hers and stares straight at Adrien. 

There’s a bitter taste on his tongue and a tightness in his throat. He’s steps away and reaching out for Nathanael’s shoulder. The scowl feels seared into his lips.

“Adrien, where’s my drink?” Marinette shouts over the music. She gently pulls Nathanael’s hand from her hip and steps away from him. Nathanael smiles, chagrined, and gives Adrien a wave. 

Adrien’s clearly empty-handed and caught flat-footed by her question, but the strain in his chest eases now that Marinette and Nathanael aren't so close. 

“You forgot it, didn’t you?” she asks. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then intertwines her fingers with his and turns towards the bar. Adrien doesn’t listen as Marinette gives her goodbyes to Nathanael, doesn’t catch what she says or give thought to how Nathanael’s smile tightens, suddenly forced. Instead, he burns at five individual points of contact. 

Dragging him away from Nathanael, Marinette starts making her way to the bar. Halfway there, however, she abruptly makes a sharp turn, pulling them both further from the bar and deeper into the crowd. They trace a near half-circle around the club, ending close to the other side of the stage. 

“What are we doing?” Adrien asks. He could yell over the noise, but instead chooses to follow Nathanael’s lead and lean in closer to her. Marinette tilts her head up and, nose-to-nose, answers him. There’s the faintest hint of cherries on her breath. 

“Dancing,” she says simply.

Marinette takes the hand she holds and places it on her waist. Her skin is warm from exertion, and he can feel every short breath she takes. Without waiting for him to respond, Marinette grabs his other hand and places that one on her waist as well. 

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

She looks up at him expectantly, and starts to move her hips. Muscle flexes and shifts and Marinette comes _alive_ under his hands. She dances a full measure before Adrien’s brain and body come back online, but she persists despite his stillness. 

It _is_ what he’d wanted, from the moment the first song blared out across the club, but now that he has it, Adrien is dumbstruck. Marinette isn’t dancing with him like she did with Nathanael. Where before there was laughter and silly moves and twirls, Marinette now rolls her body in sinuous motion: coordinated, confident, in control. Her bright blue eyes go dark in the splashes of shadow that strobe out from the stage. She bites her bottom lip with intent.

And that’s apparently his breaking point, because Adrien then slides his hands down the exposed skin of her waist and to her hips and crushes their bodies together. Marinette wraps her arms around his neck and they move as one. 

The pressure of her against him is heady, mind-numbing. She slots one leg between his and dips, rolling back with her shoulders and carrying the motion down her torso and to her hips. It brings their lower halves even closer together. Adrien has to gnaw the inside of his cheek to keep from letting his hands slide lower. 

“Get it, girl!” 

In tandem they turn to the source of the voice: a few feet away, Alix shoots them a thumbs up and continues dancing with a rather tipsy-looking Kim. Kim half-sways, half-bobs just off beat as Alix, back to his chest, grinds into him.

For the first time all night, Marinette looks self-conscious, lowering her eyes and starting to unwind her arms from his neck. It’s what he should want - Hell, it’s what he should be _feeling_ , but Adrien’s in too deep and too far gone to feel abashed when he gives her hips a quick squeeze and draws her in closer. Friends _could_ dance like this, but Adrien doesn’t think that’s what is happening anymore. He knows he’s going to have to reconcile all of this, and soon, but it can wait for now. Marinette glances up at him through her lashes and lets her smile turn coy. She spins around and mimics Alix. 

Adrien struggles to remain coordinated with Marinette’s ass against his groin. In fact, it’s a struggle just to stay standing, with where all of the blood in his body begins surging. There’s no way his hands stay still anymore; they run up and down her sides, trapped on that open skin between two rather frustrating cloth barriers. Her skin is slick and soft and he wonders if her mouth would be, too.

...

“After party at my place!” Alix shouts. She leaps up from the swarms of people milling outside of the emptying club, waving her hands to try and attract the attention of as many of her classmates as possible. From the other side of the road, Juleka gives Alix a thumbs up and Rose yells something about picking up some juice and snacks. 

“Adrien, Marinette, will you let Alya and Nino know?”

At his side, Marinette looks up from her phone and gives Alix an affirmative, “Already on it. See you there!”

And then it’s just the two of them and the hoards of departing club-goers. After the oppressive stuffiness of the club, the summer air is refreshingly cool - Marinette shivers, even under her jacket. It’s a blessing in disguise, to finally have so much of her skin out of sight, to have a layer between Adrien and his temptation to touch. He shoves his hands in his pockets and feels Plagg squirm in discomfort, and oh god, Plagg. There’s no way that his kwami slept through any of the evening, and Adrien knows he’s in for two earfuls when they finally get home. He’s uncertain of whether Plagg would tease him or reprimand him over Marinette, but he’s not looking forward to either. Plagg might be a sourpuss, but he _liked_ Ladybug. Ladybug and Chat Noir had been a team for longer than Adrien could fathom, and he didn’t think Plagg was going to appreciate how royally Adrien was screwing everything up. 

Marinette and Adrien walk towards Alix’s apartment in relative silence. She makes a passing comment about how great Nino’s set was, and Adrien comes back with a ‘Of course Alya would end up on stage,’ but they peter out shortly after that. Marinette keeps up with his long strides and seems perfectly content to simply walk. Adrien, the buzz of his drink wearing off and the ringing in his ears tapering out, tries and likely fails to act casual. Now that they’re out of the club and on the quiet streets, Ladybug echoes through his head. She’d called him out on being horny, hormonal, before, but how would she react now, if she knew how weak he’d been? Ladybug had laughed at his predicament, but nothing felt like a joke now. Immediately after the party, Adrien was going to transform, beg her to meet with him, and confess. All he had to do was make it through the party without letting his meager stock of self-control slip any further away.

Alix shared an apartment with her older brother, Jalil, not too far from where they were. The siblings tended to keep mum about their father’s comings and goings, but it was understood that he was currently on a two-month long sabbatical in Egypt. The amount of freedom that came with having their own place often invoked a green sort of admiration in Adrien. He’d had to negotiate for a good thirty minutes just to come out to Nino’s show tonight, and he now had four more photoshoots that weekend for it. 

They reach the cramped lobby of the apartment building and make their way up the stairs. Marinette goes first, and Adrien finds himself counting each stair to avoid fixating on how well her jeans hug her form. They huff for four flights, then come out into the hallway. Music pours out from the opposite end, and Adrien spots the ends of Mylene’s braids as she slips into the Kubdel’s apartment. 

Maybe it’s just his imagination, but it seems like he and Marinette are met with overly uproarious greetings from their friends as they enter. Alya and Nino aren’t there yet, but Alix swamps Marinette with a leaping hug and Ivan gives Adrien an enthusiastic high five as soon as he spots him. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but it seems like Sabrina, talking to Max in the corner, keeps discreetly pointing at him and Marinette as they make their way through the living room. Chloé is nowhere to be seen. 

He doesn’t catch whatever it is that Alix says to Marinette, but he does see the blush that streaks Marinette’s face and the playful punch Alix lands on her arm. 

“Is that Adrien and Marinette?”

Kim swaggers out from the kitchen, holding two glasses. He beelines the best he can to Adrien, and his words only slur a bit when he hands one of the cups to Adrien and says, “I think you’ve earned this one, man.”

Adrien doesn’t ask questions, just nods gratefully and takes a long sip. 

It’s impossible to avoid Marinette in the small apartment. Most of their friends cluster in the living room, but Adrien keeps himself engaged with Alix and Max and some conversation about football statistics while Marinette sheds her jacket and points out some detail on her crop top to Alix and Rose. She’d made it herself - of course she had. Nathanael shows up shortly thereafter, a few beers in hand, and it’s not three minutes later that he’s perched on the arm of the couch, looking down at Marinette as she chats animatedly about some complication she’d run into while hemming the neckline. Her fingers trace the way the top plummets between her breasts, and Adrien misses whatever question Max asks him. 

“Adrien?”

Not all that far away, Marinette hears Max’s dangling inquiry. Her eyes flicker up and meet his. Her lips twitch into a smirk. _Busted._

“Gonna go get a drink,” Adrien announces. He takes the corner to the kitchen at top speeds and finds it blessedly empty. 

With a shudder, Adrien leans up against the counter and forces himself to take three long, deep breaths. He could do this. He could do this. 

He dumps the rest of his drink down the sink and refills it with water from the tap twice. Adrien is parched, and overheated, and glad to have escaped whatever is now happening in the living room - some kind of epic adventure, from the rising excitement in Alix’s voice. A raucous cheer rises from the teens, followed by the plodding of many feet down the hall.

“I’ll get him!” a voice calls, and before he can prepare himself, Marinette pokes her head into the kitchen.

“Everyone’s going up to the roof,” Marinette says, “If you wanted to go up.”

“I think I’m going to chill here for a minute, but thanks,” he says.

Marinette doesn’t leave at his answer. Instead, she takes a step into the kitchen. Any sense of composure Adrien has started feeling like he’d regained is thrown out of the window as Marinette hooks her thumbs into her belt loops and meanders over to him.

“Yeah, it’s probably going to get kinda crazy up there. You’ve got the right idea, taking a break.”

Everything about the way she reaches past him for a glass and fills it with water is regular, friendly. The small sip she takes, her soft sigh of contentment, normal. And then Marinette stares up over her cup and nails him with a look.

“I had a nice night, tonight,” she says.

“ _Euh_ , yeah, so did I. Nino was great.”

“Mhm. The whole thing was really fun.”

Marinette sets down her glass and shifts. She’s standing in front of him. His heart leaps from his chest. Was Alix’s apartment always this warm? Was his shirt always so tight at the collar.

“I enjoyed finally getting to dance with you.” Her voice dips low, dark and silky. 

“Finally?” Adrien asks. He’s lost, lost from her words, lost in her voice, lost in the delicious glint in her eyes. 

Marinette giggles, raises up on her tiptoes, and kisses him.

All of the fireworks from one hundred Bastille Days go off in his chest, all at once. The heat bursts out over his skin and lights a fire in his gut. His eyes are wide open but hers are closed. The touch of her lips is soft, brief, inexplicably intimate. 

Adrien pushes her away, but there’s no force behind it because his hands don't seem to want to let go. 

“Marinette-” he starts, but he’s cut off by the look of confusion that dips along her brow and pushes at her pout. Adrien sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Marinette, I'm so sorry, I’m sure I've been sending mixed signals, but really, I can’t…”

His hands are still on her shoulders. It’s not helping.

“Can’t what?” Marinette asks. She doesn't sound hurt, just a little surprised, like she hadn't expected him to stop her.

“I can't kiss you.”

Her laughter hops across his skin, echoing through the entire kitchen. 

“It’s never been a problem before!” she says, pausing to giggle, “Don’t tell me that _now_ you're being shy!”

This has been the worst of weeks for him, and nothing Marinette is saying or doing is making it easier on him. She throws her arms around his neck and sends him a saucy smile.

“What, are you scared now that we’re in a kitchen, not on a roof? Or were you planning on letting this stretch out a little longer?”

Marinette frowns when he tenses at her touch. Slowly, she lets go of him. Adrien takes a deep breath, trying to whip his wild thoughts back into place.

“Look, Marinette, you’re wonderful,” - _and sweet, and really sexy_ , his mind adds, “but I'm already kinda seeing someone technically and everything is _really_ confusing right now and don’t get me wrong, you’re gorgeous but like-” and then something she’d said about them kissing hits him. “Wait. Wait. Did you say _roof_?”

All of the rosiness drains from her cheeks. She teases her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh _Minou_ ,” she breathes, “I thought you knew.”

Shaking her head, Marinette takes his hands in hers. Adrien doesn't pull away, brain too occupied doing the simple sums, connecting the dots. She closes the gap between them and tips her head up. Her nose tickles the soft skin under his ear. The gesture is so painfully, undeniably familiar.

“It’s me,” she whispers. 

Marinette’s body, firm and hot, lines up flush with his. Adrien shivers as she continues. As hard as his pulse throbs, it should be impossible for him to hear her, but there’s nothing that could break his fixation on the girl who has him pressed into the counter. The girl who incredibly, miraculously-

“Ladybug?”

“Yeah.”

Her nose trails from his ear to his jaw, and she pulls back enough to meet his gaze. Hasn’t he seen the quirk of her lips every evening for months? Hasn’t he seen that blue every night in his dreams? And why does it seem so obvious only now?

“My Lady?” he murmurs.

“Yeah, Chat.”

And it had hit him but it hadn’t really _hit_ him until the breath flees his lungs. Adrien tries to step back, but the counter sits solidly in his way. There’s no telling what he should do with his hands: they’re drawn to Marinette’s warmth, to the curve of Ladybug’s waist, something he swore he’d recognize the moment he met her without the mask. But she’s not Ladybug, though she is - she’s Marinette, but she’s not. So Adrien uses his hands to scrub across his face and press deeply at his eyes. Marinette’s body withdraws, and he can’t decide if he likes the rush of cool air that sweeps across him or not. It certainly doesn’t make anything clearer. 

“If it helps… I only knew for sure after we met for yogurt.” She sounds Marinette meek, not like the girl he’d gotten to know over the past few months. The glimpse of her through the gaps between his fingers matches her voice: Marinette studies the tile floor, hands balled behind her back. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks.

“I thought you’d figured it out, too. I wasn’t exactly being subtle, and you weren’t exactly acting like, well, your usual self. You were acting a lot more like…” her eyes dart towards the hallway leading to the living room, but it seems like everyone else is still on the roof, “Your other self. Before the concert, you called me _Your Lady_ , and I thought it meant you knew. And so I just figured, ‘Oh, he wants to make a game of it, like, how obviously can we flirt in public before one of us gives in’?” Marinette shrugs and looks decidedly pleased with herself, following up with, “I gave in. You’re just too irresistible.”

His eyes run up and down Marinette’s form, matching it to every point of Ladybug he’s spent years studying. Same height, same hair and eyes and build, same ruinously sensual hips, same plush pink lips. 

“Marinette…”

Marinette’s nervous voice comes from confident Ladybug’s mouth. It makes so much sense and is so unbelievable, that he’s spent the last week agonizing over the same girl. 

“Is that… am I okay?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, no thought needed, “This is just-”, “You’re you, but you’re her, and we’ve been- we’ve been _making out_ all over Paris for months and never-” The words escape him, leaving him to gesticulate helplessly.

“Trust me, I was freaking out about it all night once I realized. I turned you down for over a year and a half because I had a crush on you.”

And isn’t that just a punch in the gut? A croaking laugh flees Adrien’s throat, though he’s not sure if that’s the right reaction. Marinette looks down at the floor again, unsure.

“At least… it works out, right? You like me, and I like you, on both sides… I hope.”

It’s true. The realization washes over him with little fanfare, because it’s been true, a fact, for long enough now. Relief wells up in his gut. He’d been worried about betraying Ladybug… with Ladybug. And then it strikes him. Adrien straightens.

“Marinette, are you… are you telling me that you’ve known it was me for at least the last two days, and have been… _teasing_ me this entire time?”

Marinette looks up, worry draining and leaving behind something much more wicked. “The cherries probably were too much, huh? Though in my defense, I thought you were teasing _me_ all night. All of that almost touching, the defensive boyfriend thing, the _dancing_.”

Adrien draws in a hard breath. Marinette is Ladybug. He’d known the taste of her lips, but now he knows the feel of her skin. He’s felt her pressed sinfully close. And she’s here, now, in front of him. 

There will conversations, to be sure. There are more than a few feelings to sort out, too many confusions and complications, invented explanations to family members and friends. There will be uncomfortable patrols and charged battles and Paris may never be the same again. But for right now, there is Adrien and Marinette, Chat Noir and Ladybug, and he is finally being given permission to explore both worlds at once. His hands feel right on her waist, and her name tastes sweet on his tongue.

“Marinette, My Lady…” he purrs. 

Adrien dives in before she can respond, capturing his lips with hers. The motion isn’t new but the fire is, the need that drives straight to his core with the realization that he could have this, _he could have her_. The breathy moan he rips from her only spurs him on. His tongue slides into her mouth, and it is exactly as soft and as slick as he fantasized. Marinette curls her tongue around his then withdraws, only to come back a moment later and nip at his bottom lip. 

Free to roam for the first time, his hands cover every inch of her bare back then ghost lower. She plunges her tongue past his lips and the force of it wrecks him; Adrien grabs two handfuls of her ass and wrenches her closer. There’s more heat than before when their hips meet, and Adrien is quickly reduced to a panting mess when Marinette grinds up against him. Hands still firmly planted below the belt, Adrien flips their positions, bodily pressing her into the counter. Her hips buck into his as his mouth moves south, skimming over jaw and tracking down neck until he reaches her collar. 

There’s no suit in the way, no Miraculous magic or Cinderella time limits, so there’s nothing stopping Adrien from choosing a firm bit of flesh along Marinette’s shoulder and biting down. The scrape of her nails along his back come with a wordless moan of approval, and Adrien sets to biting and sucking the skin until it’s bright red and tender. It would bruise quickly, no doubt, and then there would be no question as to who he was bound to. Even under Ladybug’s suit, he would know it was there, and the thought is a thrilling one.

Marinette withdraws her hands from him long enough to hoist herself onto the counter. Her legs part. He fits himself between them and places his hands on her thighs to scoot her closer. She locks her ankles behind his back. The space between them disappears, and mixed groans appear in its place. He meets her with hardness and she meets him with heat, and it’s so overwhelmingly _right_ that Adrien almost loses it then and there. But still, he refuses to pull away, refuses to know a single moment without her skin, so he keeps kissing her, and she keeps kissing back. 

A clatter from the other room gives them a jolt, and while their lips part, their bodies do not. The sound of someone stumbling, followed by muffled laughter, trickles down the hall - one of their friends down from the roof. Adrien shakes his head and darts back in to keep kissing Marinette, but she gently pushes his cheek away. He frowns, disappointed, but it does give him the opportunity to gaze at her kiss-ravaged lips. 

“If you defile me in Alix’s kitchen,” Marinette pants, “We will never hear the end of it.”

Marinette sounds undone, and it takes every iota of will in his body to not go through with it anyway. He could lean her back, over the counter, and slip a hand under that poor excuse for a top-

“Whoa there, Kitty, that was not a suggestion,” she says. A strong hand grasps his bicep and pushes him back a few inches. Marinette chuckles at Adrien’s whine.

“That’s not to say that I wouldn’t be… open to going somewhere else,” Marinette continues. Her hand slides down his arm, and she guides his hand to her inner thigh. 

“Marinette, you’re making it… incredibly hard… for me to go anywhere right now.”

She releases him, her grin far from apologetic. He takes a step back, giving her enough room to hop down from the counter, but still close enough for her body to slide over his as she does.

“Then let’s go before we’re both _hard pressed_.” 

Marinette might be the one teasing him, but she’s the one whose pupils are blown wide and whose chest heaves with each labored breath. That said, Adrien is no doubt worse off. 

They move in one synchronized flurry, grabbing jackets, finding phones, giving Mylene a hurried goodbye as she rolls her eyes and chuckles. It doesn’t even matter that Alya and Nino are on the other side of the front door that Marinette swings open: Adrien guides her past them with a hand low on her back, and Marinette shouts something like ‘If my parents ask,’ and ‘your place’ before they make it to the stairwell. A delighted whoop reaches them a minute later, but Adrien is too distracted by Marinette slamming him into the wall and peppering him with hot kisses. How they even make it downstairs with all articles of clothing still present remains a mystery to Adrien.

“Where do you want to go?” Adrien asks. He’s tugging her along in some aimless direction, desperate to get somewhere, anywhere private. “My place is probably out of the question for now,” he adds, “Too many cameras and I do _not_ feel like taking the time to sort out avoiding those.”

Marinette’s little laugh makes his stomach flutter and his heart pound. She squeezes his hand, and they have to pause long enough to do a brief survey of each other’s mouths. 

“We can go anywhere, _Chaton_ ,” she breathes, “We’re superheroes.”

It gives him an idea - or really, dredges up a fantasy of his. Adrien takes a sharp right, leading her into a nearby alley. He presses her into the brick of the building then glances up at the fire escape that crawls up the side. It must be a good ten stories up to the rooftop. 

“Anywhere?” Adrien asks. Marinette follows his gaze up, up, and sets him ablaze with her moan. 

“ _Anywhere_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come kinkshame me @ brettanomycroft.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> come by and talk sin w/ me: brettanomycroft.tumblr.com
> 
> Beautiful art of Marinette in short short shorts!: http://outsidethecavern.tumblr.com/post/138352366324/now-the-sin-in-full-color-the-phone-saturated-the


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